


Fallen

by hbomba



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: 3x12 - Freeform, F/F, Freedom, Fridget, Lesbian, Season 3, post 3x12, post-ep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:15:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27089986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hbomba/pseuds/hbomba
Summary: Franky's first weekend of freedom.
Relationships: Franky Doyle & Bridget Westfall, Franky Doyle/Bridget Westfall
Comments: 52
Kudos: 85





	1. Released

**Author's Note:**

> Set in season 3. When Bridget said “I fell really fuckin’ hard…” in “Think Inside The Box” (5x08) it resonated with me and made me go back to interpret the beginning again.

* * *

You can’t blame gravity for falling in love--Albert Einstein

* * *

Bridget Westfall was not a lonely woman. She was healthy and vital, albeit living a solitary life, with a stocked wine cellar, and few friends, but her friendships were strong and infallible. She was successful, well-respected in her field despite those who would whisper about her sexuality. Times were more tolerant, but she still found a fair number of people that weren’t. Facing each decision with razor sharp acuity, she refused to tolerate regrets at this stage in her life. And yet, Franky Doyle had made her reconsider everything. Bridget was drawn to her in a way that she’d never been drawn to anyone. Franky was enigmatic and dangerous, and she represented all that Bridget couldn’t have, and everything she desired. 

Professionally, she had done the right thing and handed Franky’s care to another therapist, but she was still haunted by the younger woman’s forlorn expression when she rejected her. Betraying Franky’s trust had derailed any hope of mentoring her. So when she found Franky in the kitchen that day after she’d discontinued their professional relationship, Bridget realized she didn’t want to be Franky’s mentor anymore, but she did want to find a way to continue to support her future. But it wasn’t as simple as that. Her desire was betraying all good intentions. Her body crackled with the static electricity that arced between them when Franky came closer.

But she didn’t let herself go there. 

Even when she sought out Franky in the library, Bridget couldn’t help her flirtations. It had been days since they’d seen each other, and she was more than happy when she had a reason to find her there. In the stacks, Franky had caressed her cheek, her body near, her breath washing across her lips intoxicatingly and still she resisted.

In a compound with twenty-four-seven video surveillance, no space was safe and Bridget knew that, even if for the moment, the library stacks were the hottest place in the prison. Bridget turned away from Franky despite her own need sending a thrill through her body. Vera had appeared from nowhere and cast her eyes on what very nearly was an indecent situation, but Bridget had doused her suspicion with psychobabble.

Or so she thought.

When Vera walked her out after Ferguson forced her to choose between her job or Franky’s parole, Bridget worried that Franky wouldn’t get released at all. Ferguson had proven herself to be diabolical in her torment of Jodie Spiteri, Bea Smith and, she suspected, many others and Bridget knew that Franky had gotten under the Governor’s skin and that made her a target too. 

Bridget sighed and swirled the glass of wine in her grip. She downed the last in a gulp before refilling the fine crystal glass. She would normally be typing up her notes from the day’s sessions, but Ferguson had run her out of a job a week ago. She had a few calls out to colleagues and was confident she wouldn’t be out of work for long, but it still stung to be bested by a psychopath. 

She should have been more careful but Franky couldn’t have been more enticing if she had asked her to be. If it seemed like she was blaming her attraction on Franky, Bridget acknowledged that she might be. After all, it was hard to swallow when Franky’s green eyes sparkled as she licked her lips with intent. The chemistry between them was undeniable and obvious to even the most clueless.

The phone rang, rattling her out of her thoughts. She lifted the receiver. “Hello?”

“She got it,” Vera’s voice echoed from the phone’s tinny speaker.

Bridget smiled at the ceiling and exhaled. “Thanks for letting me know, Vera.”

She could hear Vera clear her throat, hesitating. “Day after tomorrow. Goodnight.” 

And the line clicked off. Smiling, she looked at the phone before hanging up. Guilt was a funny emotion, Bridget mused, but in this case she was glad to be on the receiving end of Vera’s hard-won charity. 

After Ferguson neglected to tell her about Franky’s parole hearing being moved up, likely because she orchestrated the timing change, Bridget knew Vera’s intervention had helped Franky’s parole chances. There was no telling what the Governor may have said without the stark contrast of Bridget’s own report to the Board.

Bridget thought about her glowing review of Franky as a prisoner. With everything she knew, she had laid it on thick, but she believed the core of her message. Franky’s remorse was apparent, even if her impulse control was still questionable, and Bridget knew she was more than ready to reintegrate into society. In fact, languishing in prison would only harden Franky further and make rehabilitation more difficult in the end. She had needed a mentor and Bridget took her needs seriously, something that Ms. Bennett and Ms. Ferguson had never endeavored. 

Bridget saw through Franky’s tough exterior. It wasn’t an act, she came by it honestly, and Bridget knew that she could find her way through the anger that bubbled up into everything Franky did. It wasn’t easy, detaching Franky from her own self-image, but once she’d let go of the irredeemable facsimile of herself that she’d perfected, Franky began to believe in a future for herself. She began to evolve, and Bridget did, too. She let her guard down with Franky, confessed her sexuality to Franky, which opened her to Franky’s flirtations and in return made it more difficult for her to ultimately do her job. 

Once again she was at the crossroads of doing something incredibly foolish and something wholly meaningful. As she signed for the optional insurance on the rental coupe, Bridget Westfall’s heart thumped in her chest. She slid into the leather bucket seat and inhaled the sweet smell of leather and automotive cleaners. Looking at the keys in her hand, she reasoned with herself. She could just drive it around the block and bring it back. She wasn’t locked into some grand gesture for a prisoner that had come to mean something to her. She could turn around. She could go home. She could take a drive to the coast on her own and let the wind run through her hair. Bridget Westfall did not have to drive to Wentworth.

But she did.

And as she sat at the gates waiting for Franky to emerge ablaze with freedom, Bridget knew this was a decision that she had made a thousand times over. With all the other options, she chose being there for Franky. She knew she was playing it fast and loose with ethics, but she’d already been fired for something she didn’t do. Acknowledging her own deep-seated resentment was the first step to her own recovery, she smirked at the thought. Truth was, she didn’t want to come to her senses. 

The hot girl and the hot car may have been Franky’s fantasy but Bridget had co-opted it and was all-in at that moment. She looked at her watch. Any minute now, Franky would be walking out, probably a little overwhelmed by her own freedom and Bridget hoped her being there didn’t complicate things too much for the other woman. 

And there she was, bad-girl fashion sense in full effect, just as Bridget had imagined Franky to be outside the teal trackies. Bridget spent two hours trying on everything in her closet, looking for the perfect ensemble but even with hot pants on, she still didn’t feel as sexy as Franky looked cloaked in freedom. 

Bridget honked the horn as she climbed out of the coupe and Franky’s thousand watt smile practically lit up the parking lot on an otherwise overcast day. As she approached, Bridget's heart beat faster and nothing prepared her for the way she felt when Franky kissed her. It was the fairytale magic Bridget had hoped to give Franky on her first day of freedom. It seemed simple enough but the fact was Bridget had put her career on the line for her. 

Sex wasn’t her endgame with Franky, however undeniable their attraction was, Bridget didn’t need to pick up her next one-night-stand at the prison where she worked. And while she didn’t _need_ to rent the car, or pick Franky up outside the gates of Wentworth, she wanted to. Mostly because she wanted to show Franky that the hopes and dreams she had of how she would leave Wentworth were at least partly possible. It wasn’t a complete pile of ashes, but Bridget hoped the car helped.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, Gidge.” Franky’s hand squeezed her thigh, a Cheshire Cat-sized grin plastered on her face as they sped away. Bridget hummed and blinked meaningfully in Franky’s direction before turning toward the sun and sliding on a pair of sunglasses. She could feel Franky’s eyes on her as she drove into the city. “So where are you taking me?” Franky asked.

“To the sunset.”

Franky’s lips softened into a smile and she sat back in the bucket seat, arms crossed across her chest. If she didn’t know better, Bridget would have thought that Franky was suddenly shy. 

Truth was, Bridget had booked a room at her favorite hotel in the city. It had a great view, a fine restaurant with decent room service and comfortable suites. As a rule, Bridget didn’t bring women home with her. It was too messy emotionally and too personal for most one-night-stands, she preferred to have the advantage of not only her psychological training, but the lack of anything that identified her to the other woman she slept with.

But today Bridget wondered if it would be too impersonal. Franky was hungry to get to know her and part of Bridget wanted to let her, but she stayed the course and weaved through the city streets toward the hotel. She turned onto the cobblestone driveway and moved her sunglasses to the top of her head as they drove into the valet garage.

She turned to look at Franky who, much to her surprise, didn’t say a thing, she just smiled and popped open the car door. Dropping the keys in the Valet’s hand, Bridget stepped into the hotel’s lush lobby, watching as Franky’s eyes darted around the slate fountain surrounded by greenery, the water pouring down from the second floor mezzanine. 

Moving languidly through the lobby, Franky right beside her, she approached the front desk with a smile. She greeted the clerk cordially and tried to look regal when Franky noticed the clerk was familiar with her as well. Franky’s smirk told her she hadn’t avoided suspicion. 

“You come here often?” Franky teased as they stood together waiting for the elevator to arrive.

“Not lately.” Bridget was being honest. 

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. When the business men and tourists had emptied from the car, they stepped inside. As Bridget reached across to press the button for their floor, Franky inhaled her scent subtly, and she smiled as the doors closed. The mirrored elevator car walls highlighted their nearness as it ascended. Unexpectedly, Franky stepped back and leaned against the railing along the back of the car, her body language inviting Bridget to come closer. She turned on her heel, making eye contact with Franky’s smiling eyes. 

Bridget had made this elevator trip with other women before, but none were as charged as the air was with Franky an arm’s length away. She stepped into Franky’s embrace, cradling her face with both hands. It was an intimate gesture but it felt oddly natural for a woman who subsisted exclusively on one-night-stands. Franky’s hands were on her hips and Bridget swayed against her as they kissed again. 

It was a soft and tentative kiss, timid in its unfamiliarity, and yet the shockwave that ran through her body was anything but. Bridget pulled away, looking up at Franky as she turned around to check their progress. Franky’s hands snaked around her waist from behind and she rested her chin on Bridget’s shoulder. She waited for Franky to speak again, to question or even joke about what they were doing, but she didn’t, and Bridget was grateful for that fact. She let her eyes close momentarily to enjoy Franky’s closeness, and she could feel Franky relaxing into her too.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened again. Bridget found Franky’s hand and pulled her along, leaving the elevator behind. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, decorated with sconces and chic wallpaper that set the tone for the room they were about to enter. The door beeped as Bridget tapped the keycard against the lock. 

Bridget glanced over her shoulder at Franky who chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. “You okay?”

“Me?” Franky scoffed. “I’ve bloody thought about this for months.”

“This?” Bridget looked at her skeptically.

“Well, where this is leading…” Franky grinned.

“The sunset?” Bridget smirked and Franky scrunched her mouth, dimples creasing her cheeks as Bridget pushed the door open.

The suite was tastefully decorated. Modern artwork on each wall, the walls a shade of taupe, high gloss wood table in front of a comfortable-looking lounge and French doors leading to the bedroom. The windows spanned the entire lounge wall. It was still early, but the sun was making its slow descent into the ocean. 

Franky walked to the windows and stared out into the expanse with wide eyes. Freedom was radiating from her skin, the glimmer in her eye, the good cheer in her voice and Bridget felt a bloom of pride in her chest for what Franky had accomplished under her care. This served only to remind Bridget that she was violating a number of ethics rules at that very moment and she sighed heavily as she dropped the keycard and her purse onto the table.

Franky had noticed her expulsion of air and turned away from the window. “Having second thoughts?”

“Nuh.” Bridget shook her head. She couldn’t admit the truth, because it was a cruel truth, so she lifted her chin and smiled at Franky. The truth was she’d thought it to death and she knew it was stupid. She knew it was risky personally and professionally and she made the reservations for the car and the room anyway. Now, she was there with Franky and the reality was that it wasn’t like any other one-night-stand. She had intimate knowledge of Franky but Franky had only vague notions about Bridget. Normally, that was exactly how Bridget liked it, but with Franky it felt wrong. Franky had enamored Bridget. She’d made her yearn for things she thought she didn’t need, from someone she was fairly sure, wasn’t ready or able to give them to her. 

Franky smiled then. She looked so different away from the harsh fluorescent lights of Wentworth, younger, in fact, out of the teal and into her own skin again. “Gidge,” she grinned impishly, like a child testing an authority figure, but Bridget knew she was getting used to doing away with formalities. “You’re gonna miss the sunset.”

Bridget dropped her leather coat on the lounge and walked to the bottle of champagne on ice, chilling beside a pair of fluted glasses. “Thirsty?” She asked, lifting the bottle from the silver bucket of ice. She filled the flutes with champagne before carrying them to Franky’s spot at the window.

Eyebrows raised, Franky accepted the glass. “So do ya do this for all the lezzos?”

Bridget choked on a laugh. “No.” She shook her head. “Definitely not.”

“Just me.” It wasn’t a question. 

She smiled. “Just you.”

A grin spread across the younger woman’s face and Bridget felt Franky’s satisfaction in the pit of her stomach. Franky sipped the champagne and looked at Bridget with a thirst the entire bottle of bubbly wouldn’t touch. She looked out the window, high above the city, a view of the water, the wide-open spaces of a park and an endless blue sky, now threatening to turn darker hues. 

“Ta,” Franky said quietly, smokey eyeshadow on heavy lids, hiding her green eyes.

A bemused smile spread across Bridget’s face. “You’re welcome.” She turned to face the horizon, happy to have made an impact. Franky’s eyes remained trained on her as the sky came alive casting pink and orange hues across her skin. Aglow in shades of sunset, Bridget finished her champagne and turned to Franky. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Franky agreed.

Bridget returned to the champagne bottle and refilled her glass. “You’re not watching the sunset.”

“No, I’m not.” Franky’s smile was something Bridget could get used to. “The sun will set again tomorrow, but this thing between us, Gidge, is it just for tonight?”

She didn’t know how to answer. She knew she had made plans for a weekend in the city, she hadn’t invited Franky to her home, and most importantly she knew her own history. She knew she couldn’t promise Franky forever right then, but she also knew that she couldn’t guarantee her tomorrow, either. 

“Franky, I…”

Franky nodded solemnly. “Yeah, okay.”

“We don’t have to--I mean, don’t feel obligated to…”

Bridget was taken aback when Franky laughed. “Are you shitting me? I’ve been thinking about you for months.”

“Oh.” Bridget chuckled. 

The sun had sunk into the horizon but the sky remained alight in campfire hues and Franky walked toward her, a silhouette surrounded by the flames of the sunset on her first night of freedom. She set her half-drunk glass of champagne on the table beside Bridget and took the flute from Bridget’s hand, setting it aside as well. 

“I get the feeling you do this a lot. I mean, you’ve got form.” Franky nodded appreciatively as her hands gripped Bridget’s waist.

“I like my privacy.” Bridget tilted her jaw up regally.

“Didn’t want me peeping on your life so you brought me to a three-hundred dollar a night hotel…I completely understand.”

“Franky…” Bridget’s hands slid beneath the lapels of her jacket.

“Gidget…” Franky smiled enticingly and leaned in to kiss her softly. When her bottom lip found its way between Franky's teeth, she quivered.

“Oh, Jesus, what are we doing?” Bridget whispered against Franky’s lips.

Franky tugged at the bottom of her top and pulled it up over Bridget’s head in one swift movement. She let out a surprised gasp and chuckled at herself. 

Bridget Westfall was in uncharted territory. A former client was undressing her and she had very few qualms about letting her. Franky's mouth was on her neck, hungry as ever, her nimble fingers unhooking Bridget's bra quickly. Her bra dropped to the carpet with only a wisp in the quiet of the suite, and Bridget sighed as the air conditioned room made her shiver.

She pushed the blazer off Franky's shoulders and onto the floor, the layers of shirts beneath followed in a flurry of kisses and a trail of clothing followed them through the French doors, to the suite’s bedroom. Being with Franky was more exciting than she could have ever predicted. She was forthright in all her endeavors and Bridget enjoyed being plied by the younger woman’s experienced hands. 

Franky backed her onto the bed, peeling the hot pants from Bridget’s legs. She inched backwards as Franky unbuttoned her own pants and stepped out of them. Bridget let her eyes wander over the brunette’s tattoos and scars that decorated her body--she was imperfectly perfect and Bridget wanted her more than ever. 

She lowered her head and leveled her hungry gaze on Bridget. Licking her lips, Franky crawled onto the bed and over her body. Hovering above her, their eyes met and Bridget swallowed hard. Franky possessed an intensity that Bridget had rarely encountered and if she’d brought any other woman to the hotel, Bridget would be the one setting the tone. 

But Franky was special.

That’s what it came down to. This wasn’t one of Bridget’s one-night-stands, as much as she tried to make it like one, she knew the reality was the connection she felt with Franky was something that was extraordinary.

Franky was kissing her slowly, deeply, and Bridget couldn’t think about anything anymore. When Franky’s palm flattened on her stomach and slid into Bridget’s underwear she was lost completely. 

Franky smiled against her lips as Bridget moaned at the contact. She arched against Franky’s fingers as they explored her depths. She was otherworldly, knowing just how to touch Bridget, who was used to the awkward fumblings of strangers. Tearing her mouth away as Franky sunk into her, Bridget gasped. Franky’s teeth scraped across her throat as her mouth continued to travel lower.

_Bliss, thy name is Franky Doyle_ , she thought to herself. 

Before another thought could materialize, Franky was tearing her underwear off and kissing her belly, her hip, her thigh, and finally her center. It all happened so fast--Franky was experienced and Bridget was eager--and she writhed on the three-thousand thread count Egyptian cotton sheets as Franky’s mouth coerced her body to yearn for a release that it had been denied for months. 

And it wasn’t long before she succumbed to Franky’s mouth, her hips rolling in tandem with the waves of the overwhelming euphoria. When she returned to herself, Franky was beside her, head propped up on her hand, watching Bridget with a discerning gaze. It was unnerving the way Franky could look into her and see things that other people had missed or never cared to notice at all. 

Franky chewed her bottom lip as the stars faded from Bridget’s sight and she became aware of her unwaning desire for the other woman. Turning toward Franky, Bridget kissed her with abandon, tasting herself on Franky’s tongue, weaving her fingers through her shaggy hair. Before long, she was straddling Franky’s waist, hands appreciatively on her breasts as she moved lower, pushing Franky’s legs apart. Franky’s hands went to Bridget’s hips as she settled between her legs. Pressing herself against Franky, Bridget began to move her hips. 

Franky hissed. “Oh, fuck.”

She was impossibly wet and their bodies moved against each other easily. Franky clung to her, holding her as tightly against her as she could manage while Bridget undulated against her. Bridget’s arousal was quickening, and she shifted, lifting Franky’s leg to her shoulder. She saw the surprise flash on Franky’s face, but the look was quickly transformed into a grimace of pleasure when Bridget pressed herself more firmly against her. They rocked together, finding a symbiotic rhythm that made her short of breath once again.

“Franky,” she moaned, the sound of Franky’s name turning her on more than she thought possible.

Franky bit her lip, eyes trained on Bridget as she continued to grind against her. Bridget felt bare--not naked--bare, as Franky looked at her with an unmatched intensity. Bridget wasn’t used to being seen. Bridget was used to using other women to get off, but she’d realized some time ago that Franky wasn’t like other women. And when Bridget’s body jerked unexpectedly, the sheer pleasure of another orgasm overtaking her, Franky cried out as well. Their bodies slowed and Bridget released Franky’s leg, lowering herself onto the bed.

She lay beside Franky and stared up at the ceiling until Franky moved closer again.

“Why’d you do it?” Franky’s lips pressed against her cheek.

“Do what?” 

Franky sighed happily. “All of this. The car, the room, the champagne and room service…”

“Room service?” Bridget asked, momentarily confused.

“There is gonna be room service, right?” Franky looked at her expectantly.

Bridget chuckled. “Sure.”

“You didn’t answer my question…”

“Why?” Bridget sighed and looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. “Because nobody has ever done anything for you and I thought I could change that.”

“You’re right, no one has ever tried that leg thing with me before.” Franky looked at her sheepishly before cackling at her own joke.

“Lucky guess.” Bridget laughed self-consciously and looked away.

“Seriously, though...you didn’t have to do any of this. I would have fucked you in the janitor’s closet at Wentworth.”

“Ah, romance.”

“Is that what this is?” Franky’s dimples creased her cheeks.

Bridget shook her head and sighed. “No…” 

Franky nodded. “Coulda fooled me, Gidge.”

Once again, Bridget was stunned by how perceptive Franky was. What she had done, what she had thought before doing any of it, was romantic. Making a dream a reality was something that was not done lightly, and any notion that she could separate herself from the original intent was futile. She may have brought Franky to an impersonal hotel, but it was a four-star hotel room with a view and champagne and, apparently, room service to come. It was not an anonymous fumbling with a stranger after an evening at the wine bar, this was personal. And she had tricked herself into believing that she was simply doing something nice for Franky. Of course, winding up in bed together was a fortunate side-effect to her supposed good deed despite the gnawing feeling of guilt that accompanied the afterglow.

“You’re not having regrets, I hope.” Franky’s voice cut through her thoughts.

Bridget lifted her head and smiled. “Why would you think that?”

“Because anytime I get real quiet after I fuck somebody, I’m thinking to myself _‘what did I just do?’_ ” 

And there it was. Franky-the-Seer had once again uncovered the subtext of the moment. She sighed and reached out to touch Franky’s cheek. “I’ve just broken a few ethics statutes and put my career on the line, but I’m more worried about you, Franky.”

“Me? I’m good--better than good.” Grinning, she tucked her arm behind her head.

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Look,” Franky said seriously. “I came along because I wanted this too.”

Bridget nodded and assessed the other woman carefully. “Okay.”

“So can we order some food now?”

Bridget laughed, a release she hadn’t noticed she needed even in the afterglow of orgasm, and pointed to the nightstand. “Top drawer.”

Franky feigned surprise. “Ms. Westfall _does_ come here often.”

Brushing the bangs from her forehead, Bridget shook her head, smirking. Franky had figured her out and she was taking every opportunity to tease her. She watched Franky stretch towards the bedside table, pulling the drawer open and retrieving the leather-backed room service menu. 

“What’s good?” Franky needled, laying across the bed on her belly..

“Everything,” Bridget said, straight-faced.

“Oh ho!” Franky laughed and flopped onto her back, inspecting the menu.

She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face as she watched Franky lick her lips at the array of culinary descriptions in her hand. “So what are we having?” Bridget asked, bemused.

Franky looked up from the menu, grinning. “For real?” 

She was like a child who was just set loose in a toy store with a hundred dollar bill. “Of course,” Bridget smiled.

“We start with the calamari and escargot, and keeping with the theme, how about surf and turf?” 

“You are hungry, aren’t you?” Bridget asked, only half-serious.

Franky dropped the menu onto the bed. “For more than a good steak.” 

Bridget hummed as Franky crawled toward her. “We’ve got time. The kitchen’s open till eleven.”

Franky grinned as she descended upon her once again.

* * *

End Part One


	2. Uncovered

Hours later, Bridget lay in bed, muscles numbed from overexertion as Franky showered the sex away in the suite’s large bathroom. She ran a hand through her mussed hair and smiled at the ceiling. Franky was amazing. Intuitive and attentive, Bridget thought she knew what to expect but Franky had surprised the psychologist. 

The water cut off and a few minutes later Franky emerged, wrapped in an oversized terry cloth bathrobe, drying her hair with a towel. “Showering without shoes on…” Franky let out a happy sigh. She looked around eagerly. “No food yet?”

Bridget propped her head up on her hand. “Not yet.” Her voice was thick with sex and sleep.

Franky sat at the foot of the bed, running her hand up Bridget’s bare leg. “I didn’t wear you out, did I?”

Bridget smiled and sighed contentedly. “No, but I am hungry for dinner now.”

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Franky tossed a winning smile over her shoulder as she disappeared through the French doors to answer the knocking. Bridget was slipping into the other robe when Franky returned a moment later, pushing a cart of food, rich smells of butter and seafood, meat and jus, filling the small room. “Did someone say dinner?”

They sat at the small table in the corner of the bedroom. With wide, eager eyes, Franky lifted the silver domes off the plates to unveil their meal. She watched Franky’s eyes glaze over as she took in the steaks topped with lobster tails and inhaled the sweet scents of garlic and butter. Franky dipped a fork into the escargot dish first, cheese trailing from the fork to her mouth, eyes closing sublimely. Bridget sighed softly, satisfaction apparent and Franky’s eyes opened, training her gaze upon her once again. 

She speared a ring of calamari and dragged it in the beurre blanc sauce. “I’ve fuckin’ missed food.”

Bridget chuckled. “But you worked in the kitchen at Wentworth.”

Franky chewed happily. “Yeah, but it’s not like we had access to ingredients like this.”

Bridget crossed her legs and reached for the wine bottle perched on the cart. Inspecting the bottle, she nodded appreciatively. “I suppose not,” she agreed, pouring the white wine into their glasses. 

Franky looked up with another mouthful of escargot and toast in her mouth. “You gonna eat? I thought you were hungry.”

She smiled and nodded. “Yeah.” 

Bridget laid a cloth napkin in her lap as Franky still hovered over the food, a sheepish grin spreading across her face as she backed away, realizing that her own table manners might be a little rusty since prison. Bridget poked at the escargot, dipping a piece of crusty, toasted bread into the well of herbed garlic butter before combining them. Toast crunching loudly, as she bit into it, the escargot melting into the bread as she chewed contentedly. 

She spent the next twenty minutes watching Franky happily stuffing herself. A smile plastered on her face the whole time she sawed into her beef tenderloin or dunked a piece of lobster tail, hardly able to sit still as she chewed because she was enjoying herself so much. Franky’s passion for all things culinary was as apparent as the passion she had shared with Bridget.

“You know, Gidge, you eat like a bird.”

Bridget looked up from her barely-touched steak and the lobster tail she was daintily sawing into small pieces, before squeezing a lemon wedge onto a morsel and dipping it into a ramekin of butter. She guided the fork to her mouth, lips closing over the tidbit, she chewed thoughtfully, savoring the texture and flavors of the freshest ingredients. 

She sipped her wine, the sharpness of the grapes bringing out the sweetness in the lobster and butter, and looked at Franky seriously. “When do you need to check in with your P.O.?”

“Monday morning.” 

Bridget nodded and speared another bite of lobster, chewing it thoroughly and swallowing before speaking again. “Would you like to spend the weekend with me?”

Franky stopped noshing momentarily and grinned. “You seriously have to ask?”

A coy smile. “I didn’t want to presume…”

“Like hell,” Franky teased.

“Well, maybe a little.”

“Whatever are you going to do with me for an entire weekend, Gidget?”

“Anything you want.”

“What if I want to stay holed up in this hotel room with you and a room service menu?”

“You could go anywhere and you want to--”

“You still don’t get it, do you? I’ve been hung up on you for months and this--” Franky said gesturing between them. “--thing between us, isn’t going away.”

“Franky…” She said, her apprehension apparent.

“Let’s just have some fun, Gidge. Quit thinking so much.”

She had to chuckle at that. A psychologist that thinks too much. Was there such a thing? Apparently. Here they were, happily stuffed, a gourmet meal laid to waste in front of them, Franky having done most of the damage, and Bridget was having a hard time believing that Franky wanted to spend her new freedom with her...at least for the time being.

Bridget hummed and finished the wine in her glass. “I’m going to have a shower. Maybe I’ll see you in there.” A lazy grin crept across her features as she stood and unfastened her robe’s belt, letting it drop to the floor before walking to the bathroom naked.

She threw one last glance to Franky over her shoulder, a smile punctuating the sentiment as she disappeared into the washroom. Turning on the water, steam began to fill the small room. She took her time washing under the shower’s spray, but Franky did not join her. And after what felt like forever as she was sudsing her hair, the curtain pulled back to reveal Franky, who smiled, dropped her robe, and stepped into the tub.

Bridget sidled up to her, draping her arms around Franky's neck, their breasts pressing together beneath the water’s spray. Franky’s hands squeezed her waist, a quiet “hey” whispered against Bridget’s lips before kissing her softly.

“Mmm, so glad you decided to join me.”

“There was nothing on the telly.” Franky bit her lip and grinned at Bridget.

Bridget shook her head, pursing her lips, bemused by the younger woman’s sense of humor. It wasn’t long before Franky had backed her against the cool tile wall, her body blocking the shower’s spray as she sunk to her knees. Franky ran a hand up her leg to the back of her knee and lifted it to rest Bridget’s foot against her shoulder. 

She stared into Franky’s eyes, looking into her depths and seeing so much more than ever before. All of the things Franky had buried while at Wentworth, she’d hidden them away to keep them safe--her safe--in that environment. When Franky broke their shared gaze, she leaned forward, eyes closing as she covered Bridget’s center with her mouth. 

“Shit,” she exhaled, hands first attempting to grip the wall, before finding their way to Franky’s hair.

Bridget was lightheaded and dizzy. While Franky had been eating everything in sight, Bridget was covertly sipping away three-quarters of a bottle of wine. Consequently, she was drunk and now that Franky had begun to show her appreciation for Bridget, the psychologist couldn’t form a coherent thought that didn’t start with  _ oh fuck, Franky.  _

Bridget tangled her fingers through Franky’s damp hair as her head moved against her. It was bliss. Tipsy and weak-kneed, Bridget could barely concentrate on breathing and remaining upright. Franky was magnificent, and Bridget was overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through her already-tired body. Franky squeezed her thigh, stroking it softly as her mouth continued to send thrills through her body. When Bridget cried out, her release rocking her body, Franky held onto her until she stilled. When she stood, Bridget clung to her beneath the shower’s spray once again.

They swayed together in a silent post-coital dance in the water. Slowly, Bridget returned to herself from that utopian place, lifting her head from Franky’s shoulder to kiss her passionately. As she pulled away, Bridget began to plant kisses along the nape of her neck to the scar and tattoo on her breast. She noticed Franky flinching at the gesture, realizing the scar (or the tattoo) was a reminder of something upsetting and she lifted her head again. She wondered how many other scars Franky harbored on her body as she straightened and pressed her palm against Franky’s cheek. 

It was a tender gesture full of emotional impact for each of the women. Bridget, who made a career of helping other women with tenderness and understanding, could not bring herself to find that on a personal level. And Franky, who had made a career out of casual sex, was made doubly uncomfortable. Franky looked at her with haunted eyes and Bridget stroked her cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching behind her to shut off the water.

Franky shook her off, and looked away from Bridget’s piercing gaze. “I’m fine.”

“Franky…”

“Nuh, not doing this.” Franky threw back the shower curtain and stepped out of the tub, wrapping herself in the terry cloth robe again. She left the bathroom before Bridget had a chance to follow and when she had dried off and returned to the bedroom, she found Franky lying on the bed, watching television.

“Okay, what just happened?”

Franky smirked. “If you have to ask, I didn’t do it right.” She changed the channel with the remote.

“Franky...you know what I mean.”

She scoffed. “Gidge, can you take a night off from shrinking? We were having such a nice time.”

“Yeah, we were.” Bridget crossed to the bed and sat beside her. “So tell me what’s going on.”

Franky shut off the television and closed her eyes. “I’m never going to be able to forget that place.”

“Yeah,” Bridget sighed. “Yeah, you will. It just takes time,” she said quietly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not even slightly.”

Bridget exhaled and reached out for Franky’s hand. “Are you continuing therapy during your parole?”

“What do you think?” Franky’s impatience with her was apparent.

“I wish you would.”

Franky scoffed. “Yeah, well I didn’t come here for therapy.”

“Franky, that was never my intention…” Bridget kept her tone even and her voice quiet.

Franky sighed and looked at her hands. Bridget could feel Franky’s anger dissipating slowly as time passed and she let her decompress. After a while, Franky looked up and met her gaze. Her eyes were weary, her defenses were down and Franky looked sad.

“Do you think this thing between us is too complicated to work?” She asked.

“Possibly. But what isn’t?” She smiled at Franky. “C’mon, shove over.” 

Franky sighed and scooted over, throwing back the duvet for Bridget, who crawled into bed beside her. Bridget’s arm snaked across Franky’s waist, as she laid her head on her shoulder. Bridget didn’t cuddle with her one-night-stands but, as she had established earlier, Franky wasn’t one of those. Still, with Franky’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, Bridget was stiff in her embrace.

“Relax,” Franky reminded her.

“Franky, I don’t do this.”

She laughed. “Yeah, ya do.”

“No, not like this. I pick women up, fuck them in anonymous hotel rooms and come home alone. I don’t cuddle with them or take showers with them or eat two-hundred dollar meals with them.”

Franky’s wide eyes blinked. “Why me?”

Bridget closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I feel a connection with you.”

“I feel it, too.”

* * *

For a woman that didn’t cuddle, snuggle, or even snog, Bridget strangely awoke in Franky’s arms. Sleep had not come quickly, despite her body’s exhaustion. Her mind raced, even as Franky held her. She knew there was no rational reason for it. She had her own demons and just because she was a psychologist didn’t mean she had a handle on them. 

Bridget opened her eyes and lifted her head to find Franky’s gaze trained on her. “G’morning.” Franky’s thousand-watt smile and dimples for days greeted her warmly. 

Inhaling softly, Bridget sat up on her arm, putting a little distance between them. “How long have you been up?”

“A while.” Franky stretched languidly.

“You’ve just been watching me sleep all this time?” Bridget tried not to be weirded out by the thought.

“No. I ordered breakfast a bit ago.” She grinned.

Bridget laughed. “Right.”

“I’m glad you woke up, though. I was beginning to worry how I’d answer the door.”

She smirked. “The ever-practical, Franky Doyle.”

“At your service.” Franky tipped an invisible hat in her direction and climbed out of bed. 

She was still gloriously naked in the splendor of a new day and Bridget took a moment to appreciate her beauty in the gleam of dawn. She picked her discarded bathrobe up and shrugged it onto her shoulders. Tying up the belt, Franky noticed her watching. 

“I’m not the only one that likes to watch, I see.”

Bridget could feel her chest and face flush with embarrassment, a bemused smirk creeping onto her face. “It was difficult not to watch.”

“Did you even try?” Franky teased.

When the wave of laughter between them faded, Bridget caught her breath. “Not really,” she admitted.

Before Franky could goad her anymore, a knock sounded at the door and Franky raised her eyebrows and sauntered to answer it. She reappeared with another cart of food having exchanged it for the last. Franky wheeled it to the table that she had cleaned while Bridget was in the shower the night before. 

“Come on, Gidge. Let’s eat.” 

She lifted the silver domes with each hand revealing two plates of eggs benedict accompanied by a healthy portion of hashbrowns and fruit. Setting the domes aside, Franky lifted a carafe of coffee from the white linen clothed cart and poured the aromatic liquid into a pair of white ceramic cups. 

The smell of coffee wafted to her nostrils and she inhaled deeply. Bridget stood and stretched her bare body toward her robe and Franky quickly took notice. When she turned around, tying the sash on her robe, Franky was sucking hollandaise from her finger as she watched Bridget intently.

“How is it?” Bridget asked, sashaying toward the small table.

Franky looked her over. “Delectable.”

Bridget narrowed her eyes and smiled, shaking her head at Franky and sitting opposite the brunette. She sat back and laid a linen napkin across her knee. “Are you feeling up for a little fresh air today?”

“The windows don’t open, Gidge.”

Bridget smirked. “I thought we could go for a walk--there’s a nice park nearby--perhaps we could have lunch there.”

“Aren’t you afraid of being seen together?”

Bridget shook her head. “Doesn’t matter,” she said. 

Franky laughed. “Yeah. It does.”

Bridget sighed. In truth, she hadn’t even thought about it. She’d thought about everything else, it seemed, but the banal act of going out in public hadn’t crossed her mind. “Do you really think anyone would notice?”

“Not notice two hot bitches like us? Are you for real?” Franky grinned.

“Franky…”

“Gidge,” she implored. “You have to be smart about this.”

“I get that you’re used to being under surveillance twenty-four-seven, but it’s not like that out here.”

“It’s worse. Because people on the outside can’t mind their own fucking business.”

She had a point. Bridget groaned. “What do you want to do then?”

“I’ve been having a fine time doing you.”

She groaned again, laughing this time. “Eat your breakfast.”

“You first.”

* * *

After breakfast, Franky flopped onto the bed. “You know something, Gidge? I went from being locked up in a concrete box to a four-star box.”

Bridget scoffed, lowering the paper she was reading. “Beg your pardon?”

“The hotel,” Franky clarified. “And I’m not complaining in the least. It’s just funny how things turn out,” she mused.

“I wish you’d let me take you out.”

“Nuh. I’m not going to let you risk that for me.”

“I think you’re being overprotective.” Bridget raised the paper again--it was theatre--and she began to read the same line for the tenth time.

“And I think for a private person, you’re not being very private about us.”

“Us?” Bridget peered over the newspaper, shaking out a wrinkle.

“Go on, pretend what we’re doing here is a one-off, but I know better.”

Bridget folded the paper and set it next to her plate. “Do you?” She smirked.

Franky sat up. “Yeah, I do.” 

Under other circumstances Bridget might have felt the uncomfortable need to flee, but with Franky she was being beckoned closer by her challenge. She stood and walked toward Franky’s station on the bed as Franky got to her knees. 

“That’s interesting.” She untied the sash on her robe.

Franky cocked her head, grinning. “How do you reckon?”

“I  _ am  _ having a good time,” Bridget hummed sensually as she closed in on Franky. 

Standing in front of Franky, who was perched on her knees, Bridget let her robe fall open and she shrugged it off her shoulders. Bared in front of Franky, she flashed a smile and reached for the collar of Franky’s robe, pulling her forward to kiss her hungrily.

Franky wrapped her up in an embrace that made Bridget’s breath catch in the back of her throat. Firm, and steady, she lifted Bridget onto the bed and they toppled over together into a heap. Her hands yanked the knot in the belt on Franky’s robe and she sighed as their nude bodies pressed together.

It was a surreal moment for Bridget--to be so free and together with another woman--which was amusing, considering her line of work. Her professional boundaries were well-established, Bridget wouldn’t have made it twenty years in Corrections if they weren’t, but with Franky everything was different. She’d never let another prisoner flirt with her, nor accepted their advances, but Franky had rekindled something inside her heart. Her story touched Bridget, and reminded her of all the good she could accomplish with a client who wanted to be reformed. But it was more than that--Franky was never ‘just a client’--she was always an anomaly, a blip on the radar that tempted Bridget in ways that she’d never encountered.

If it was a test, she had failed miserably. And in failing, Bridget had come to understand herself a bit more than before. It was a painstaking process for someone who was so in touch with other people’s emotions, but as the weekend had gone on, Bridget had come to realize that Franky’s attraction to her wasn’t one-dimensional. In fact, Franky was an attentive and giving lover and it was hard to believe she wasn’t interested in continuing the weekend. 

Franky had rolled on top of her, fingers teasing her hair as they kissed. When she broke away from Bridget’s lips and peered down at her, the psychologist could feel the weight of her gaze heavily.

“What is it?” She asked quietly. Franky shook her head and Bridget was sad that she’d never know what that look meant. “You can tell me anything, Franky,” she reassured.

Franky sighed, brushing a strand of hair from Bridget’s forehead. “I think I'm about to get my ass kicked by this.”

“By what?” She whispered.

“Us. What we’re doing here.”

Bridget smiled. It was an expression of relief. “You’re not alone in those feelings.”

Smirking, Franky sighed and shook her head. “I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t blame you,” Bridget said, reaching up to stroke Franky’s cheek. “I’m having trouble believing this is real, myself.”

It  _ was  _ hard to believe that someone who had appeared so hardened at Wentworth was now so soft and caring in her hotel room. Of course, she didn’t have anything to compare with what they were doing. It had been two days and countless bouts of lovemaking and still Bridget was hungry and ready for more. No other encounter measured up to what was happening between them. Usually, Bridget lost interest in her conquests once they had sex, sometimes she would meet the same woman twice, but no more. It was about keeping life uncomplicated and there was less chance of disappointment when she didn’t put herself out there emotionally.

But Franky… _ Oh, god, Franky... _ She was amazing and as complicated as they come, but Bridget was enthralled, enraptured, and enveloped by the other woman. She was tripping headlong into what might be the messiest entanglement of her lifetime but Bridget was certain of one thing: she couldn’t change course. Bridget Westfall was falling hard.

* * *

End Part Two


	3. Tomorrow

Hours later, after they had made love again and again, Franky dipped a plastic cup into the ice bucket and poured a couple of cubes into her mouth, crunching the mouthful of ice happily. She stood at the end of the bed with her plastic cup of ice, naked as the day she was born, and Bridget watched her with growing amusement. 

“Aren’t you cold?”

Franky looked down at her hard nipples. “I can see why you’d think that, but no. Do you know how long it's been since I could be naked somewhere other than a shower?”

Bridget propped her chin up on a hand. “Tell me.”

“I don’t even know, it’s been so long.” She smirked at Franky and brushed the hair from her face. “Does this bother you?” Franky asked, motioning to her naked form. 

“Why would it bother me?” Bridget’s voice was raspy from their earlier encounter.

“Because it’s so full-on, y’know?”

Bridget nodded. “I do know.”

“Is this where you psychoanalyze me for being a nudist?”

Bridget laughed. “No. If I did that I’d have to take a long, hard look at why I’m so happy to sit here and watch you enjoy being naked.”

Franky crunched another mouthful of ice. “Oooh! Let’s!” She exclaimed eagerly.

“It’s better than the telly,” Bridget downplayed her interest.

“Try again.”

“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Bridget sighed and sat up, the sheet she was holding, falling to her waist. “Franky Doyle, are you fishing for a compliment?”

Raising an eyebrow, Franky set the cup of ice on the bureau and walked to the side of the bed. “What if I was?”

“You’re perfect.”

“Shit.” Franky looked away.

Confused, Bridget kept her eyes trained on Franky--still learning, still cataloguing every expression she made. “What?”

“You don’t actually believe that, do you?” Franky put a hand on her naked hip.

“No. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re standing there, looking like you do...”

She stopped pacing and a cocky smile spread across her face. “I do look good.”

Bridget laughed. “Yeah, you do.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Franky reached out a hand and tipped Bridget’s chin toward the ceiling.

She should have been satiated. They had been together a dozen times or more in the past two days, her body was sore, her muscles were weak, it was late and she was tired but Bridget still answered the call. She wanted Franky as much as Franky wanted her, and it was becoming an obsession--one that she had no interest in seeking treatment to correct.

Franky climbed onto the bed, creeping closer until she was kneeling in front of Bridget. She was so beautiful, her big green eyes looking at Bridget expectantly as she chewed her bottom lip. Bridget saw her own hands reaching out for Franky and momentarily wondered if she was even in control anymore. Franky caged her in with lanky arms on either side of her, while straddling Bridget’s thighs, and when their lips met she sighed. 

She wondered if it was a false sense of intimacy. If the rush of chemicals through her brain each time she orgasmed--and that was definitely more than a dozen times--had made the feelings she was starting to have for Franky ten times stronger. Whatever the reason for her growing feelings, it didn’t matter to her. Bridget Westfall was all-in.

And so was Franky, as her fingertips skipped across Bridget’s thighs into the gap between them. Bridget had been touched by many, but by none so expertly or so thoroughly as Franky Doyle. She never knew what was coming next, except when Franky’s fingers pressed against Bridget’s core making her gasp. Bridget arched off the bed, grinning, a low chuckle escaping her lips. 

Above all, Franky was fun. Each time their bodies pressed together it was a joyful meeting. Bridget had been with too many to count but, nothing compared to being with Franky, locked away from the world for an entire weekend, never getting dressed, eating room service, making love at will, falling asleep in her arms. 

Bridget’s hands found the curve of Franky’s waist. “What are you doing to me?” She groaned plaintively. Franky grinned down at Bridget as she slid a finger inside her, causing Bridget to moan again. “Frankyyy…”

“Should I stop?” Franky teased.

“God, no,” she sighed as Franky began to move her hand.

“That’s good,” Franky cooed, settling in beside her, hand moving slowly between Bridget’s legs.

“Shit, Franky,” she breathed.

“Shhh…” Franky watched her intently, her thumb sweeping across Bridget’s center.

Arching against her hand, Bridget’s hips began to move restlessly but Franky was without hurry, a slow and studious ruination of her senses. Her breathing becoming erratic, and no longer feeling the patience for Franky’s explorations, Bridget swore again under her breath. When her eyes opened, Franky was watching her closely. It was unnerving and arousing at once and Bridget felt her concupiscence grow exponentially.

Franky’s mouth was against her ear, her breath hot on her neck, and Bridget was quickly undone by the eager hand between her legs. She could feel Franky’s smile against her cheek as the trembling in her body slowed. When the haze of release had lifted, Bridget ran a hand across her face. 

“My God,” she exhaled.

“You mean you’re not sick of me yet?” Franky said with a wicked grin. Bridget could tell as much as she tried to make it seem like a joke, there was a genuine question there.

“No,” Bridget smiled and shook her head. “Not at all.” She wasn’t sick of Franky. In fact, if Bridget could afford the room service, she’d stay another week. But they were currently living in an artificial bubble and the real world could easily kill anything more personal between them. It was scary to admit to herself, but it was an important step, because as much as she wanted it to, their hotel relationship couldn’t last forever, Bridget would have to make a move soon if they were going to continue outside their current situation. She chewed her lip.

“Thinking again.” Franky’s statement of fact made her smile.

“Yeah…”

“Anything good?”

“Well now that you mention it…” Bridget pushed her shoulder playfully and Franky rolled onto her back.

She would take her time loving Franky, memorizing every stroke of ink on her bared skin, every scar from Wentworth and before, and every reaction she evoked. It was different than before, and Bridget couldn’t question why that was. Not yet.

The night was made for lovers. Deep thought and repercussions were for the morning after.

* * *

Sunday morning arrived without fanfare. It was Bridget’s turn to watch Franky sleep. The night before Franky had confessed her love for sleeping in, and Bridget had plenty of time to reflect on that confession in the early hours of the morning because Bridget was up at dawn, thinking things over. And over. And over again.

What she had done was a gross violation of her ethical obligations to her profession, and she’d been through it backwards and forwards, but she truly couldn’t say that she wouldn’t have done it all again. Franky was a magical infusion into her life--something that was desperately lacking before they tangled--and Bridget was remiss to give her up.

Bridget sat at the small table in the corner sipping coffee, another cart of room service with a light fruit salad, yogurt, and croissants, a carafe of coffee and orange juice sat at the ready, but Franky still snoozed. She opened the newspaper quietly as she could manage and began to read the world news. Somewhere between stocks and weather, Franky began to rouse. Bridget looked at her from behind the paper, a warm smile greeting Franky as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“G’morning,” Bridget said, happy to see her awake at last.

“Hey,” Franky said. “What’s for breakie?” Franky squinted at the cart.

“Come and get some.”

“Can I at least eat breakfast first?” Franky grinned. 

Bridget chuckled as Franky crawled out of bed, dragging the top sheet along with her. She sat at the table, wrapped in the sheet, and picked at the fruit with her fingers. Pouring a cup of coffee, Franky sat back and looked Bridget over. “Sunday, funday.”

A sad smile. “Yeah.”

Franky bit into a large strawberry. “When’s check-out?” 

“In a few hours,” Bridget said, tearing off a bit of a croissant.

“Guess I better get to figuring out where I’m going to stay,” Franky joked.

Bridget set the croissant down, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “Come home with me.”

Franky reached for another hunk of honeydew, aborting the mission and pulling her hand back in surprise when Bridget spoke. “What?”

“We can continue this, whatever this is...”

“You’re serious?” Franky pulled the sheet tighter around her.

She nodded. “Yeah, I am.”

“And you’re sure you want me all up in your space?”

“I’ve enjoyed it so far.” Bridget smirked.

“And your privacy?”

“I’ve enjoyed plenty of that, as well.”

Franky smiled. “You’ve got it all figured out then.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’ve been up a while.” 

* * *

They drove with the wind in their hair, enjoying the freedom. Franky fiddled with the radio, settling on the modern rock channel, before bringing her knees to her chest. She sat there, looking so young, and Bridget felt conflicted once again.

As they drove through Bridget’s neighborhood, Franky’s eyes were alive with wonder. She took in her surroundings with great interest, having not been out in the world for so long. Seeing things from Franky’s perspective was freeing for Bridget, and as the engine cut off in her driveway, Franky’s expression said everything.

Franky was in awe, buzzing with a happiness never observed while she was in Wentworth. And Bridget, for her part, was in disarray, discombobulated by the conflict of emotions playing out inside of her. She was about to do something she hadn’t done in years--something she thought she could avoid doing ever again. 

“So are we gonna go in, or…?”

She’d been waffling for at least five minutes and Franky had been oddly patient until now. “Yeah,” she heard herself saying, as Franky opened the passenger door.

She watched the casual way Franky sauntered up the walkway in front of her, hands in her pockets, cool as ever and Bridget manufactured some of her own confidence to follow. Franky stepped to the side to let Bridget unlock the door, leaning nonchalantly against the bungalow as she slid the key into the lock.

Inhaling deeply, she pushed the front door open and ushered Franky inside. Franky, for her part, paused at the threshold of her sanctuary, meeting her pensive gaze. “You right?”

“Better than,” she smiled, relaxing as they pushed on into her living space.

Franky took it all in, from the nicknacks, to her psych magazines, and papers on the coffee table. Her empty coffee cup from Friday morning sat on the island next to an old newspaper. She opened the dishwasher and placed the forgotten mug inside. Franky strolled through the lounge looking at the ephemera of her personality causing her to reexamine her decision to let someone into her home. Privacy was of the utmost importance to Bridget but any second-thoughts were washed away by the smile that Franky aimed in her direction after seeing everything. Sitting on the lounge, Franky let out a happy sigh. She was comfortable in Bridget’s space. 

“Care for a cuppa?” Bridget asked, filling the kettle.

Franky nodded, bending to unlace and remove her boot. “That’d be sweet.” She dropped her boot on the floor beside the lounge and began to loosen the other boot.

“How do you take it?” 

“Black, with three.”

“Sweet tooth,” Bridget smirked.

“I like you, don’t I?”

Bridget scoffed. “I don’t know if I’d call myself sweet…”  
  
“Trust me.” Franky grinned, letting her other boot drop with a thump. “You’re sweet.”   
  
Recognition dawned on her and she smiled sheepishly, shaking her head. The kettle screamed its readiness and Bridget turned the range’s knob into the off position. She poured the scalding water over the tea bags in a pair of mugs on the counter and set a timer, before crossing the room to sit beside Franky. 

Bridget felt awfully awkward for someone who had spent a naked sojourn with the other woman in the days prior but she was just leaning into the feeling and getting used to it. She exhaled.

“This is really difficult for you,” Franky said, bemused.

“No, it’s good,” she lied. 

Franky looked at her wordlessly and she was busted. “Really?”

Bridget sighed. “No.”

“It’s not like I’m going to find the key to your existence in your nicknacks, Gidge. Relax.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.” Bridget smirked.

Franky clutched at her heart melodramatically. “Oh! You flatter me.”

The alarm cut through their laughter and Bridget hopped up to retrieve the tea. She returned to Franky with a mug and a plate of tea biscuits before retreating to get her own cup of tea from the counter. When she circled back, Franky was happily crunching away on a biscotti, her tea sitting on the table in front of the lounge.

Bridget settled into the corner of the lounge, cradling her mug as she tucked her feet beneath her. She was beginning to relax, her surroundings covering her like a cloak of comfort.

“You’ve got a nice place here, Gidget,” Franky said approvingly.

“Thank you.”

“I am waiting for the big reveal, though.”

“What of?”

“Your bedroom, of course. That’s where all the best secrets are hidden.” Franky wrung her hands together.

Bridget smirked. “Finish your tea and I’ll give you the grand tour.”

“Funny, I didn’t think you brought me here for a tea party.”

“Right.” Bridget nodded. “C’mon, then.”

Bridget stood and crossed her arms over her chest, before motioning Franky to follow. It was a short tour--the bath, the laundry, her office and the last stop, her bedroom. Her bed was made but her closet was flung open, clothes strewn about, hangers on the floor. It was the scene of Friday’s one-hundred wardrobe changes. She didn’t think Franky would be coming home with her so she left the mess. Now, as Franky perused her wardrobe, Bridget felt a bit like a slob for doing so. But Franky didn’t judge her--well, maybe a little--but Bridget was still at peace with her decision to let her in. 

“Have a little wardrobe crisis, did we?” Franky smiled knowingly and sat at the foot of the bed, bouncing a few times.

“Hush, now.” Bridget sidled up to Franky, threading her arms around Franky’s neck.

“But my tea,” she grinned. “It’s getting cold.”

Bridget shook her head, chuckling. “I’ll make you another.” She kissed Franky softly.

“I was thinking…” Franky said quietly, wrapping her arms around Bridget’s waist. 

“Hmm?” 

“We’re just a couple of cats and a U-Haul shy of a total lezzo cliche.” Franky looked up at her, with her best ‘gotcha!’ expression.

“It’s still early,” Bridget chortled.

She leaned down and kissed Franky again, toying with the strands of her long, dark hair. She was finally comfortable--she wouldn’t have believed it herself if she hadn’t felt the warmth in her belly from Franky’s touch. Franky was in her bedroom, they had been intimate countless times before that moment, and still she was interested in her touch. She wasn’t a conquest, a one-night-stand or even a friend with benefits--Franky Doyle had stolen her heart.

Bridget’s touch was but a wisp on Franky’s neck as she pushed her black blazer off her shoulders again. Franky shrugged out of her other shirt and fell back onto the bed as Bridget pulled another shirt over her head. There was no rush this time, just an eagerness that hadn’t faded since that first time in the hotel room. She hovered above Franky and kissed her tenderly as they continued to strip away their clothes.

Franky’s thumbs caressed her cheeks as they kissed, and Bridget couldn’t help feeling something more because of the gesture. They scooted beneath the covers together, and the soft sheets soaked in the lavender and eucalyptus scents of her detergent relaxed Bridget further. She could feel Franky soften too, and she knew that her home was the reason. She traced a line from Franky’s dimpled cheek to the scar on her breast again. Franky’s gaze met hers, but something wild and scared flashed in her eyes again and caused Bridget to withdraw her hand instinctively.

Franky shook her head. “It’s fine. I’ve got lots of scars. And I don’t want to talk about any of them.” Franky’s fingers explored her skin, stopping at the beauty mark above Bridget’s breast. Her thumb stroked it thoughtfully. “I had dreams about this mole.” Franky smiled.

“Okay.” Her skin flushed.

“I did.”

“I’m not doubting you,” Bridget laughed.

Franky palmed Bridget’s breasts and kissed her again. “That’s good.”

It was a slow seduction. Laying together, legs intertwined, they explored each other’s bodies with eager hands. Each time pleasure caused Bridget’s eyes to drift shut, they would reopen to find Franky watching her intently. If voyeurism were a drug, Franky was addicted. They teased each other simultaneously, fingers slick with moisture, testing the depths of their pleasure.

It was far more intimate than any other encounter Bridget had experienced in her storied sex life. Franky’s forehead pressed against hers, sweat sticky hot at her temples and she bit her bottom lip as Bridget’s fingers tempted her closer to release. As her excitement mounted and their breathing became ragged, they moved together. 

In the tangle of arms and legs, hands and feet, Bridget’s body was on high alert. Franky buried her face in the crook of Bridget’s neck and began to tremble with release. As Franky cried out, Bridget felt her body begin to tense and the rolling waves of surrender flooded her senses. 

Franky fell away from her and kicked back the covers. Heat was radiating from her body, a light sheen of sweat making her body luminous in the afternoon half-light.

“Shit,” she sighed.

“Mmm…” Bridget hummed into Franky’s ear, planting a kiss on her cheek. “Darling, you are superlative.”

“I love it when you swear.”

Bridget laughed a hearty laugh and rolled onto her back. The quiet post-coital moment that followed was something she was keenly aware of. Usually, Bridget didn’t hang around after sex but something was growing inside her--a feeling that no longer could be denied--and the truth was that the feeling had been mushrooming for a lot longer than the weekend. Bridget had broken all of the rules--professional and personal. 

Subsequently, Franky, a former client, was perspiring on her sheets beside her and Bridget did not feel shame, nor did she feel regret. Where it might have been embarrassing for some, Bridget had put herself through the ringer over Franky and all that remained was pride. She was proud of Franky’s progress and her stake in it. She had met Franky at her lowest and watched her progress over the months. As much as she wasn’t her therapist anymore, there was still professional pride. It wasn’t boastful, these emotions she harbored, but rather a feeling of real connection that created an environment where Franky could heal.

And when Bridget thought she had her life all figured out, Franky taught her how wrong she was. She, too, had been living a lie. One that told her she was happy with her fleeting one-night-stands and the lack of complex emotions outside of a career that truly took too much of her reserves on a good day. 

Bridget had to rethink her earlier estimation. So she wasn’t a lonely woman but she lived like one. Few friends, married to her job, a string of meaningless hook-ups to fill her needs, and all for what? It occurred to Bridget that she had wasted a lifetime, but somehow, someway she had finally broken every rule she’d ever followed and there she was naked in the mid-afternoon with a former client, in her own bed. 

_How the mighty have fallen_ , she thought to herself.

She turned her head and caught Franky watching her again. “What’s on your mind?” She asked.

Bridget exhaled. “Is it that obvious?”

Franky scrunched her chin and nodded. “Yep.”

“What happens tomorrow?”

Franky exhaled and ran a hand through her hair, sweat clinging to the strands against her temples. “I have that meeting with my parole officer and seeing as I’m homeless, that probably needs some attention…” Franky smiled. “Or were you speaking of you and me?”

A sheepish smile. “I’m not sure.” 

Franky nodded. “I’ve stumped you.”

Bridget sighed. “I guess you have.”

Franky tucked her hands behind her head and exhaled happily. “You don’t have to figure everything out tonight.”

She propped her head up on her hand, leaning on her elbow. “Nuh, but for a psychologist, I’m doing a pretty shit job of figuring out what I want.”

Franky looked into her eyes. “Maybe it’s because you know what you want, but you’re afraid to go there.”

“You missed a calling, kid.” Bridget smirked and shook her head. Franky was so intuitive she’d broken the stalemate Bridget had invoked upon herself with a few well-chosen words.

“I’m a student of life, Gidge.” Franky stretched beside her. “A Jill of all trades. A wolf-child who raised herself from the get-go. You pick a few things up along the way.”

“I’ll say.”

“So what are you gonna do?”

Bridget’s bottom lip disappeared into her mouth and she sighed. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“To me, yeah. I’m just wondering if you’ve figured it out yet.” Franky grinned.

“It’s not that simple, Franky.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“How?”

“Just let it happen, Gidge. Nothing could be simpler.”

“Franky, the ramifications of every aspect of this are immense.”

“There you go making it all complicated again.”

She smiled. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Are you gonna hurt me?”

Bridget smirked at Franky. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Me either. Now that that’s settled, we should grab some take away and stay in tonight.”

“And tomorrow?”

“I won’t hurt you tomorrow, either.”

She had to smile. Neither could offer a case for forever just yet, but each day they spent together made her want to spend another with Franky. She was as addictive as alcohol and as much as she tried to reason with herself that the risks outweighed the benefits, Bridget couldn’t let her go. 

She had fallen for Franky Doyle and no reasonable thought could quell the desire she felt for her. It was a whirlwind, but the slow and methodical buildup that had led them down the path they were now entrenched in had given them a foundation for something greater. Time would tell where it would all lead, but one thing was certain, the weekend Franky Doyle regained her freedom would live on in Bridget’s memory for all time. 

* * *

Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'll try not to stay away so long next time. Stay safe, everyone! xo


End file.
